


the possibility that home is a person

by akaiiko



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Married Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaiiko/pseuds/akaiiko
Summary: In the dog days of summer, Keith hauls a kiddie pool out of the shed so his wolf can cool off. Shiro pays the price.“We could shave him,” Shiro points out. For the ninth time.Just as he had the last eight times this was brought up, the wolf’s head perks and he lets out a low whine. It’s unclear how much the wolf understands of English—even to Keith—but he figures the wolf functions more off the mental impressions that come with words than anything else. Still. “No, we can’t. It wouldn’t be dignified.”Shiro looks meaningfully at where the nearly 55kg cosmic wolf is currently lolling in the undignified blue kiddie pool decorated with yellow ducks and green frogs.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 414





	the possibility that home is a person

**Author's Note:**

> this was for the _beginnings: domestic sheith_ , which was a really fun experience and let me write the kind of uncomplicated Softe Fluffe (TM) that i rarely do.

On the first day of shore leave, the ambient temperature cracks triple digits and Keith hauls the kiddie pool out to their little grove of Daibazaalian zathar trees. The wolf follows him at a sluggish pace. Unlike Keith he’s not used to the desert, and he’s hated every minute of this late summer heat wave.

“Dad used to call these the dog days of summer,” he tells the wolf. Cranking hard on the spigot, he waits until the hose jerks in his hand before aiming it at the dusty plastic of the pool. “Because of the dog star—Sirius—rising in the northern hemisphere.”

The wolf wags his tail once. Limply. Most of his attention is focused on the rapidly filling pool and the nearby bags of ice. Keith can’t really blame him.

It takes maybe ten minutes to get everything set up. Water and ice in the pool, a couple of chairs set in the grove’s shade, and a book for Keith to read. Settling into his chair, Keith gestures toward the pool with an: “Okay, boy.”

Water goes splashing everywhere—really, the wolf’s too big for this—but he looks so happy as he lolls in the water and playfully snaps at ice cubes.

Keith laughs and sticks his own feet into the water. Ignoring the book on his lap, he tips his head back to study the spread of the zathar’s violet and lavender hued leaves overhead.

They’d been a wedding present from the Blades. A little piece of his other home. Colleen Holt had tiredly certified them as appropriately desert hardy and non invasive before asking why they couldn’t settle for some nice Joshua trees. Shiro’s answer had been protective and succinct: _Keith wants zathar trees._

Shiro gets home about an hour later. It’s easy to track his progress by the rumble of the hoverbike engine until it cuts off by the garage. Both Keith and the wolf lazily watch the corner of the house.

When he rounds the house, he’s already unbuttoning his heavy uniform jacket. It’s not a peep show—at least, Shiro’s not trying to make it one—but Keith still appreciates the view as the jacket slides off. The bulge of Shiro’s pecs against his tank top is good. The curve of his biceps as he ruffles a hand through his hair is even better. What can Keith say? He’s a simple man with simple pleasures.

“Don’t you two look cute,” Shiro says, leaning down to drop a kiss to Keith’s hair and his jacket to the empty chair.

Expectantly, Keith turns his face up for another kiss. A proper one. Shiro delivers easily, kissing him soft and slow and so sweet it turns his blood to molasses. They pull apart and Keith blinks his eyes open. “Welcome home,” he says. All the heat’s sunk into his bones, leaving him lethargic and docile, and he figures it’s having an effect on Shiro too from the way he presses another kiss to Keith’s cheekbone.

“It’s good to be home.” There’s brief peace as Shiro drops into the other chair and starts unlacing his boots. He toes them off with a groan. Garrison uniforms aren’t known for comfort. When he slides his feet into the water, he asks, “Is there a reason you got out the kiddie pool?”

“The wolf was overheating,” Keith says.

“We could shave him,” Shiro points out. For the ninth time.

Just as he had the last eight times this was brought up, the wolf’s head perks and he lets out a low whine. It’s unclear how much the wolf understands of English—even to Keith—but he figures the wolf functions more off the mental impressions that come with words than anything else. Still. “No, we can’t. It wouldn’t be dignified.”

Shiro looks meaningfully at where the nearly 55kg cosmic wolf is currently lolling in the undignified blue kiddie pool decorated with yellow ducks and green frogs.

Like sugar wouldn’t melt in his mouth, Keith fires back, “He needs his fur in space.” This is true enough. They’re going on another deep space mission in two weeks. And Keith’s never tracked how the wolf’s fur grows, exactly—just when it sheds—but he’s pretty sure that it wouldn’t regrow in time for the mission.

To his credit, Shiro doesn’t do anything except sigh and rub at the back of his neck with his prosthetic. “Okay. No shaving the wolf.”

Both Keith and the wolf settle. The wolf’s got a little doggie grin. More water sloshes over the sides as he rolls onto his back and kicks his paws in the air. Keith lets his head tip back against the back of his chair and closes his eyes.

It’s nice. The water is tepidly cool. The wolf’s fur, weightless underwater, brushes his toes. The breeze is kicking up—there’ll be a thunderstorm tonight, he’s willing to bet anything.

Without bothering to open his eyes, he holds out his hand. Shiro takes it. Laces their fingers together before letting their clasped hands settle on his thigh. The rough material of his uniform stretched over hard muscle and the hard calluses on his palm are grounding.

Moving back to this house had been a challenge. One Keith hadn’t been sure he could handle. There were so many memories bound up in this place and most of them were of loneliness. This was where he lost his parents. This was where he went when he lost Shiro. 

But this is where he got Shiro back, too. This is where he and Shiro sleep in the same bed that takes up most of the back room, and where they eat at the small kitchen table with their feet tangled together, and where they work on their hoverbikes on long weekends. This is where they have kiddie pools to use for their giant cosmic wolf. This is where they’re building a life between the stars.

“We need to clear out the shed the next time we’re on shore leave,” Keith says. Wrinkling his nose, he tries not to think of the mess he left behind him when he hauled the pool out.

Shiro hums and rubs his thumb over Keith’s knuckles. “How bad is it?” he asks. Patient as anything. “You didn’t hurt yourself did you?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Keith says. Sure enough, when he cracks an eye open, Shiro’s looking him over like he’s expecting to see a limb missing. People think Keith is the overprotective one. He is not. Keith is the exact right amount of protective given Shiro’s tendency to get kidnapped, tortured, and occasionally murdered.

Shiro, on the other hand? Overprotective.

Even though he’s been caught out, Shiro doesn’t have the decency to look sheepish. “I have to ask, baby. Last time you said something about the shed we had to get you a tetanus shot.”

“No one was injured in the making of this kiddie pool,” Keith says. Grins at Shiro’s startled bark of laughter. Tries not to let his breath catch in his throat at the absent way Shiro lifts Keith’s hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the knuckles.

They sit out a little longer, until the water’s approaching lukewarm and the sun’s sunk halfway behind the mountains. Keith’s verging on a half doze—lulled under by safety and warmth and Shiro’s steady presence—when his hand is squeezed gently. “C’mon, baby,” Shiro says. “We should head in. It’s almost dinnertime.” The words are gentle, but there’s an underline of command to them because they both know Keith needs the reminder sometimes.

“Oh,” he says, looking from the sinking sun to Shiro. “Okay.” That gets him a fond smile and a gentle huff of laughter. They get their shoes back on, talking about dinner as they do, before Shiro tugs Keith to his feet.

Finally, Keith looks at the wolf and jerks his head toward the house. “Come on, boy.” The wolf deliberately settles deeper into the water. Ears prick forward as he waits to see what reaction this silent mutiny elicits.

The thing is Keith is actually kind of terrible at disciplining his wolf. For a lot of reasons. Which is why both Keith and the wolf immediately look at Shiro. Keith, because he’s already accepted defeat. The wolf, because he knows who the alpha is in this little pack.

Shiro sighs, but his voice is firm as he says, “Out of the pool.” The wolf whines. It’s a loud, sharp, pathetic noise. “Out.” Another whine that slowly morphs into a howl. The wolf lolls onto his side, paws kicking up and out, no longer a cosmic predator so much as a beached whale. “ _Out._ ” Defiantly, the wolf howls louder and pitchier. It’s akin to the sound of an active murder.

Heartstrings are tugged even as Keith fights off the urge to laugh at the melodrama. “I don’t think he’s going to get out,” he says. Shiro gives him a look that simultaneously says _no shit_ and _watch me_. He gets a premonition then—an itch at the back of his skull—and he fights to keep his own expression even.

Letting go of his hand, Shiro advances on the kiddie pool with purpose. “Last chance,” he says. The wolf howls, head bobbing with each high note. “Fair enough.”

As if in a trance, Keith pulls his phone from his cargo shorts and opens the camera app. It starts recording just in time to catch Shiro squatting down and scooping the wolf out of the pool. Muscles bulge beneath the sudden weight of the wolf and Keith idly wonders if that kind of sharp definition is what it looks like when Shiro hefts him up to pin him against walls. For six or so seconds the wolf is utterly still. Then he starts to squirm. Shiro cusses in a mix of Earth and alien as he struggles to hold onto the wolf.

Keith should probably help. Instead he keeps filming.

In a feat unmatched in the modern world, Shiro manages to stagger a few meters away before he finally puts his armful down. The wolf looks up at him mutinously before shaking. It’s more for the principle than anything—now that Shiro’s put the wolf down, Keith can see that his entire undershirt is soaked. So, of course, Keith wolf whistles. 

“Seriously, baby?” Shiro asks, equal parts exasperated and fond. All Keith can do is laugh as he takes a step back, phone held up defensively. He’s not sure why this is funny—or more accurately, why it’s the kind of funny that has him gasping around giggles—but it is. “Oh, that’s it.”

Keith shrieks—he’ll deny it, later, but there’s video evidence—as Shiro lunges for him. Instinct has him running for the safety of the house. Between the two of them he’s the faster, but he’s also laughing hard enough to count as a handicap. Within seconds he’s caught, letting out another shriek as Shiro hooks an arm around his middle.

They wrestle for the phone. Or maybe, more accurately, Shiro wrestles for the phone. Keith thrashes and giggles and basically acts like a kid playing keep away. The wolf must figure this is more fun than sulking. He circles them, barking happily, tail beating against their legs.

Around a minute in Shiro finally manages to grab the phone and end the recording. Keeping one arm locked around Keith’s waist, he turns off the phone and stores it in the pocket of his own uniform pants. “That’s my phone,” Keith says.

“You’ll get it back when you’re good,” Shiro says. There’s no time for Keith to sulk. Second battle of the day won, Shiro wraps both arms tight around Keith’s middle and starts pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to his neck.

“Shi- _ro_!” Keith whines. It’s not quite a protest. Can’t be. He’s breathless and weightless. The happiness inside him is so buoyant that it feels like he might float off if he didn’t have Shiro anchoring him.

“Yes, baby?”

“You’re crushing me,” Keith says. “ _And_ you’re getting me wet.” That earns him a snort and a gentle bite to the nape of his neck. Maybe it’s his Galra genes, but that mimicry of a scruffing always quiets him. It does it now. Makes him—or allows him to—go limp in Shiro’s arms, trusting that Shiro will take his weight as easily as he took the weight of the wolf.

Of course Shiro takes it, arms flexing slightly as he keeps Keith anchored against his chest. He nuzzles at the base of Keith’s braid, like they’re not both vaguely sweaty and gross. Tentatively, Keith tips his head so he can catch a glimpse of Shiro in his peripheral. “You’re not going to delete the video, right?”

“I won’t,” Shiro promises. The way he says it gives Keith pause. There’s a weight to it, like it’s about more than indulging Keith. “You don’t laugh like that often.” His arms tighten around Keith and he sways gently, almost a rocking motion. “I want to keep that sound like a ship in a bottle.”

That’s _so_ cheesy, painfully so, but Keith feels his throat tighten around something that might be tears. “Sap,” he chides. There’s no heat in it.

Shiro huffs out a laugh against his neck. “I know. Now come on, it’s dinner time and you have a phone to earn back.” The release is slow, ensuring that Keith’s steady, but once he lets go he gives Keith’s butt a quick swat. “Go on, baby. Inside. I’ll take care of the pool.”

Ignoring his own slow blush, Keith nods and trots toward the house. The wolf falls into step beside him. “Traitor,” Keith mutters, but there’s no heat to that either. They climb the steps onto the porch.

Beneath his hand, the doorframe is sun warm and weather worn. They’d sanded it down last summer. When he rubs his thumb over the wood there are no splinters, just smooth edges. Instinct makes him look back the way he came. Shiro’s by the pool, dumping the water onto the roots of their zathar trees. Against the late evening sun he looks as strong and solid as those trees. Someone dependable enough to build a life with. Keith smiles, and goes inside.

**Author's Note:**

> ironically i had a much more on brand story concept originally but then i saw [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i82528KGDdo) and was like _it's all over for you hoes_. i'm hoes. anyway you can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/akaiikowrites) if you want.


End file.
